


The Joy of Giving

by Bryonia_Alba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bondage, D/s, Dirty Talk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 18:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10645125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bryonia_Alba/pseuds/Bryonia_Alba
Summary: Harry's never heard of anyone being too giving until he met Neville.





	The Joy of Giving

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Merry Smutmas, 2005.

Until Neville, Harry never knew that there was such a thing as being too agreeable.

Neville will give until it hurts and never ask for anything in return. Harry has known this on at least a subconscious level for as long as he's known Neville. That willingness to please others is one of the things Harry loves most about him. It's also one of the things he finds the most frustrating.

"What do you think looks better, the blue jumper or the green?" Neville had asked once while they were out shopping.

"The blue one," Harry had replied. "I like the way you look in blue."

So Neville had purchased the blue jumper. Harry remembers though, the wistfulness in Neville's eyes as he'd hung the green jumper back on the rack. He knows he should have spoken then, said something; but Neville truly did look very nice in blue, and the thought had slipped away almost immediately after thinking it.

Neville had spent an entire day in the kitchen on Harry's birthday, preparing steak and kidney pie, and treacle tart, and all of his other favourite foods, even though Neville had once said he didn't care for kidney at all. This past Christmas there had been a pile of presents beneath the tree, most of which were tagged with Harry's name. Neville had shrugged when Harry mentioned the disparity, kissing him and saying, "It's all right. I don't need much."

Harry can't remember the last time there wasn't fresh tea waiting for him when he woke in the mornings, even on bank holidays when he regularly indulges in a lie-in. Neville is always awake before him.

"What do you want for breakfast?" he'll ask, and Harry will answer carelessly.

"Oatmeal, I don't know. Whatever you feel like making."

Neville will make oatmeal, with raisins and brown sugar, just as Harry likes it best.

It even extends to their lovemaking, Harry realises one night while watching Neville sleep, shortly before their second Christmas together. Neville, he thinks, knows exactly how to kiss, what places to lick and nibble, where to stroke and caress. He likes to touch and follow Harry's lead; he's free with his affections, accepting each kiss and caress Harry bestows, following every whispered direction without complaint, holding him afterwards with a shy smile of pleased accomplishment. Harry can't even precisely remember the last time Neville climaxed before he did, it's been so long.

Harry has never, to his knowledge, done what Neville wants. He's never had the opportunity. He's always taken what was so freely offered, yet given nothing in return. Neville's never asked; Harry knows now that Neville will never ask.

On Christmas morning Neville is surprised at the number of gifts beneath the tree that are for him, one of which is the green jumper he'd looked at so longingly months before.

"You shouldn't have," Neville murmurs, lowering his eyes.

"I wanted to," Harry replies, meaning every word. "I want you to be happy."

Neville looks up from the jumper in his hands, obviously surprised. "I am happy," he insists. "I'm with you."

Those simple words echo through Harry's mind the remainder of the day. They go to the Burrow for Christmas dinner and good company, cooing over Ron and Hermione's new baby, making wagers on whether or not Fleur will give birth before or after the New Year. They eat Molly Weasley's cooking until they can't take another bite and accept their honorary Weasley jumpers with good grace. They stop by Ron and Hermione's home for an evening nightcap before returning home, still comfortably full from the amount of food eaten, their heads still buzzing from alcohol and the latest 'family' gossip.

"I still can't believe Ginny and Oliver are engaged." Harry shakes his head as he and Neville enter their house, his fingers unknotting the scarf around his throat.

"I don't know why you're surprised," Neville replies, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on the coat-rack. "She loves Quidditch, she loves Quidditch players. There's nothing wrong with loving Quidditch players."

Harry flashes a quick smile. "Speaking from personal experience, are we?"

"Of course." Neville returns the smile and follows Harry into the front room. They survey the litter of gift wrap, bows and ribbons strewn amongst the presents in front of the Christmas tree.

"It looks as though we bought half of Britain." Harry leans against the entryway, crossing his arms. "We left a right mess before meeting with everyone today."

Bending, Neville picks up a length of red ribbon from the floor, running it through his fingers. "I don't know about you, but I'm more than half-inclined to let this lie until tomorrow. Nobody does housekeeping on Christmas. Nobody in their right minds, anyway."

"Then we must be in our right minds, because I happen to agree with you." Harry picks up a green bow, pressing it down atop Neville's head, making sure it sticks before wrapping his arms around his waist and kissing him. "Look, I have another pressie."

"Someone's had too much rum punch." There's a note of laughter in Neville's voice as he returns the kiss.

"Nonsense. You can never have too much of Molly's rum punch." Harry nuzzles Neville's throat. "Let's go to bed. I'll prove it."

Neville drops the ribbon and pulls the Christmas bow from his hair, letting it fall as well as Harry takes his hand and leads him upstairs. The moment the bedroom door closes behind them Harry pushes him against the wall, his mouth plundering Neville's, tasting rum and cinnamon on his tongue. One hand cups Neville through his trousers, rubbing gently. Neville moans into Harry's mouth, his cock twitching, hardening rapidly beneath the attention. His hands go to Harry's waist, fingers clenching around the hem of his jumper.

Harry ends the kiss, shaking his head, his hands closing around Neville's and tugging them away. "No," he breathes. "Not yet."

Instead, it's Harry who lifts Neville's jumper up and over his head, reclaiming his mouth the moment the garment comes free, catching his wrists once more when Neville tries to wrap his arms around him to pull him closer and holding them away from his body. The kiss is hard, possessive, his hold on Neville's wrists firm. "I said no," he says, nibbling on Neville's lower lip. "This isn't about me."

"Harry, I don't understand." Neville's brow furrows in confusion, but he allows Harry to lead him to their bed, falling back into the mattress, settling against the pillows. Harry tsks when Neville tries yet again to pull him down, to kiss him as he's been kissed, to touch as he's been touched. He cranes his neck when Harry takes his hands and lifts them above his head, eyes widening when he takes his wand and whispers a spell. Silk scarves shoot from the end, wrapping around Neville's wrists and binding him to the headboard.

"That's better." Harry sets down the wand.

Neville pulls at the silk that is magically binding him to the bed. There's a small bit of leeway, very small. He opens and closes his hands, touching his tongue to his bottom lip. "Harry, are you sure--?" he asks uncertainly.

"Just lie back and enjoy." Harry kisses him again, his tongue sweeping and tangling with Neville's. He feels Neville's arms flex without thinking, trying to wrap around Harry to draw him closer, only to be stopped by his bound wrists.

Breaking the kiss, Neville twists away, gasping. "Harry, I can't...I want…"

"You want me to make you feel really, really good," Harry responds, brushing his lips along Neville's jawline, feeling him shiver. His hand drifts over Neville's throat and down his chest to pinch lightly at a nipple. Neville makes a muffled squeaking noise, tugging again at his bonds, and Harry can't help but smile. This is going to be even more enjoyable than he thought.

Neville whimpers, biting his lip when Harry sits up to unfasten Neville's trousers, sliding them down his legs, pulling off his trainers so he can remove them completely. He stretches alongside Neville's naked body, cupping his chin in one hand, meeting Neville's eyes.

"What do you think I should do with you?" Harry whispers, the fingers of his free hand tracing the outline of Neville's mouth. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want to touch you, want to feel you, want to…" Neville answers, not quite pleading.

"This isn't about me," Harry says again. "This is about what you want, about what you like. If I have to tie you down so I can do that, so be it."

Neville stops pulling at the scarves around his wrists, his body relaxing into the mattress. "I just want to make you happy, Harry."

"You do. Now it's my turn." Harry takes a moment to remove his own jumper before lowering his head to Neville's chest, the tip of his tongue touching an erect nipple. He sucks the nipple into his mouth before Neville can reply, teeth grazing lightly at the tip, teasing it as Neville gasps. Harry continues licking and suckling at the tiny nub, his fingers tweaking and pinching at the other nipple. His other hand strokes further down, curving over Neville's hip.

"Or maybe," Harry continues, releasing Neville's nipple in favour of kissing a path down his chest and belly, "you want me to do something else. What do you want, Neville? Tell me."

Neville wriggles beneath Harry's attentive fingers and tongue, his breathing fast, uneven. "Please…" he whispers hoarsely, straining at his bonds. "I want…I want you to…"

"Yes?" Harry hums against the soft skin of Neville's belly, tongue dipping into his navel before swirling wet circles around it.

"I want you to…to suck my…my cock." Neville's voice is faint, and Harry doesn't have to look up to know he's blushing as he speaks the words. "I want you to suck me, and…and fondle me, and…yes. That's what I want."

"I can do that." Harry slides down further, cupping Neville's balls in one palm, kneading them gently before taking them into his mouth. Neville moans, his hips lifting, hands clenching as Harry rolls them around on his tongue, lapping at the fragile flesh. One finger strokes Neville's perineum, each brush eliciting another strangled groan from his throat. He lets Neville's balls slip free past his lips, nudging his legs apart enough so that he can place nibbling kisses on the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, listening as Neville pleads.

"Suck me, Harry, please, now, please…"

"Anything else?" Harry touches his tongue to Neville's cock, tasting salty pre-come. "I won't know unless you tell me."

Neville swallows, his eyes squeezing shut as Harry gives him another teasing lick. "I want your mouth on my cock," he manages to say after a moment, "and your fingers in my arse, and…"

"At the same time?"

"Yesss…" Neville lifts his hips, his cock brushing against Harry's mouth, and Harry obliges with another tantalising lick. "All at once, yes, please Harry, now…"

"All right, then." Harry shifts over Neville, his tongue flicking over the head of his cock, pushing Neville's legs more widely apart, his nails grazing his inner thighs before taking him fully into his mouth, hearing Neville's keening cry as he arches upward. Harry moves up and down along the entire length of his shaft, his tongue swirling and stroking. From the corner of his eye he sees Neville's fingers curl helplessly, nearly clawing at the headboard; and he hums with pleasure at the sight, wringing a long moan from deep within Neville's throat.

Harry withdraws slowly until just the head is in his mouth, letting his tongue circle the rim before gliding wetly across the head once, twice, and a third time, then taking the entire length in one sudden movement. Neville makes a choking sound, his hips snapping upward convulsively.

Increasing the suction, Harry cups Neville's balls, rolling them gently in his palm. He pauses just long enough to glance toward his lover's face, humming again when he sees Neville's eyes are wide open and blind with pleasure, his mouth slack. Leaving his balls, Harry runs his finger along Neville's perineum, listening to his harsh breathing and gasping moans, feeling him thrust uncontrollably into his mouth.

Releasing him with a wet pop, Harry whispers a lubrication charm and works two fingers deep inside Neville, twisting and criss-crossing them, stretching him with attentive care. Neville pushes against him, head thrashing helplessly against the pillows as he pulls at the scarves around his wrists.

Crooking his fingers, Harry rubs against Neville's prostate, sending him into a renewed round of incoherent cries, his hips rocking unconsciously against the relentless thrust and slide of Harry's fingers. Unfastening his own trousers, Harry lifts out his erect, leaking cock, stroking it in his other hand.

Harry doesn't have to ask. Neville sees Harry's erection and gasps, "Fuck me, Harry, I want you inside me, I want to feel you fucking me, fuck me, fuck me hard, Harry please…"

Their gazes catch and hold as Harry slides his trousers off, kicking them away. Kneeling between Neville's legs, he positions himself quickly and pushes into him. There's a moment of resistance; and Neville winces, but then Harry's past the ring of muscle and firmly seated inside him. Neville feels so hot, so tight as he clenches around Harry's cock and he draws his legs up further to take him in even more deeply.

"You feel so good," Neville breathes. "Don't look away. I want to watch you, want to see you fuck me, want your hand on my cock while you fuck me…"

"I won't look away." Neville's cock is still slick with pre-come and saliva as Harry's hand closes around it while he begins to move inside him, slowly, rocking against him, his hand moving in counterpoint to his thrusts.

"More," Neville moans. "Harder, Harry, more..."

Harry's thrusts become more demanding and forceful, his hand fisting Neville's cock, feeling it twitch beneath his fingers. Neville meets him thrust for thrust, his hips setting a pace Harry is more than happy to follow.

"Close," he chokes, his voice rough. "So close, Harry…"

Harry feels him tense, his back arching as he comes, coating Harry's hand and his abdomen in slick wetness, muscles tightening arrhythmically around him, and Harry throws his head back with a sharp groan, feeling his balls lift and tighten as he closes in on his own climax.

The residual tremors sweep through Harry as well, and he comes with a hoarse shout, his climax sending shockwaves along every nerve ending. His hands tighten on Neville as Harry spills into him, hips jerking, gasping his name.

He pulls out once his breathing steadies and he can speak. A charm cleans the spilled semen from Neville's body, another releases him from his bonds. Neville grabs him immediately, pulling Harry down beside him, kissing him with a fierce, possessive hunger.

He's shaking when the kiss ends; clinging to Harry as he buries his head against one shoulder. Harry pulls a blanket over them both, one hand stroking along Neville's spine in soothing circles. Harry feels a bit trembly himself as they settle deeper into the mattress, their bodies curving, pressing against each other.

"See?" Harry murmurs, lips brushing against Neville's sweat-dampened hair. "Receiving can be just as good as giving."

Neville makes a drowsy noise in his throat and cuddles even more closely. "Are you happy?" he murmurs. "Do I make you happy?"

"Of course you do." Harry draws back just enough to meet Neville's eyes. "You're with me."


End file.
